


Drown

by dustbunnyprophet



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Established Relationship, Future Fic, JJSeung Week 2017, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 06:09:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11961342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustbunnyprophet/pseuds/dustbunnyprophet
Summary: He was supposed to be the champion, the gold-medalist. He was supposed to carry the pride of his country on his shoulders.But he was not enough.No matter how hard he tried, or how many hours he spent on the ice, there was always someone better than him. Someone more talented. It was getting exhausting to keep up, too keep pushing himself beyond his limits only to fail short.JJSeung Week 2017, Day 6 - Rinkmates/Rivalry





	Drown

**Author's Note:**

> It was _supposed_ to be a fic about Junior days. I guess I took a very different angle at the prompt, lol. XD

_“And I’m so close to giving up_   
_I have lost my fire and I stopped struggling_ _  
It knocks me down.”_

_Sia, Life Jacket_

 

The morning gloom filtered through the open curtains. Thick clouds gathered in the Montreal sky, grey like the tarmac of the street below. Seung-gil moved away from the window, cradling his mug of black coffee. It had been almost scorchingly hot when he had poured it in the mug, but as he sipped from it he realised it had grown lukewarm in the meanwhile. He sighed, walking towards the microwave, and putting the mug in. He was getting distracted too easily lately. Time would bend and speed in ways he seemed unable to control. He would stop for a moment to think, or just observe, and suddenly minutes would fly by him, almost taunting him. Rationally Seung-gil knew there was something wrong with him. But even as he acknowledged it, he found he didn’t really care enough to put effort into solving it.

There were many things Seung-gil didn’t care about lately.

The microwave chimed, and he drew himself out of his thoughts, pressing the Stop button and taking the mug of now steaming coffee out. He glanced at the orange digits of the microwave clock, and realised he didn’t really have time. Exhaling a heavy sigh he gulped down the coffee, rinsed the mug and put it in the dishwasher, before dragging his feet to their bedroom. Jean was in Toronto competing at Nationals, and their bed was only half unmade. Seung-gil had never been a restless sleeper, unlike his boyfriend who somehow managed to untuck the sheets every time he lay down.

There was little light in the bedroom, but Seung-gil didn’t switch the lamp on while he got dressed. His movements were sluggish, and he nearly gave up on putting a sweater on when his arms tangled in the too large garment. It was probably one of Jean’s, he reasoned. It would look ridiculous on him.

He didn’t really care.

An hour later he was at the rink, lacing his skates on autopilot. It was strangely quiet without Jean and his siblings there, and yet it somehow suited his mood. Seung-gil wasn’t really sure he would be able to keep his facade up. Not today. He felt more tired than usually. It was almost a blessing to be the only one at the rink this early.

He made his way to the ice, and unclipped his skate guards before stepping on in. His skates sliced the pristine surface of the ice, breaking the silence, and he followed the rhythm of his own movements, curving and sliding effortlessly. He didn’t need the music to skate his routine to perfection. He had practiced it over and over for months, and after pulling everything he had gotten to try and place in the GPF, Seung-gil knew there was nothing left for him to give.

He could not get any better than this.

(It had not been good enough.)

He flew across the ice, trying to forget the gaping abyss which had separated his score from the bronze medalist’s one. From Jean’s. But like the proverbial pink elephants his mind seemed bent on reminiscing the utter defeat of realising that he was never going to close that gap. That no matter how much he improved, Jean, Plisetsky and now Altin would all evolve too, but faster than him, faster. And as the seasons filed one after the other, Seung-gil felt like the distance was growing wider and wider, while the other skaters like De La Iglesia and Crispino were catching up to him. It was getting exhausting to keep up, too keep pushing himself beyond his limits only to fail short. To miss the podium for four consecutive years.

Seung-gil couldn’t help acknowledging that he clearly wasn’t talented enough. And if it hurt somewhere deep inside his chest it was inconsequential. Because it did not change the reality of it all. That Seung-gil was not good enough.

He sighed, trying to swallow, but his emotions stuck to the back of his dry throat, and he stopped in the middle of the rink. The ice was white, riddled with wedges and so endless around him. He wasn’t good enough, and yet he couldn’t imagine a life where he didn’t skate.

  


The streetlamps reflected orange on the thick clouds beyond the windowpanes. There was a small dusting of snow on the balcony, and the flakes kept piling upon it, whipped there by the wind. It had been freezing outside, and even the heating of their car had done little to get Jean’s circulation back to normal. And Seung-gil had been in even worse shape, his thin hands ice cold and his whole body shivering lightly. Jean had told him it was not necessary to pick him up at the airport, but his boyfriend had insisted, and now he was lying on the sofa curled in Jean’s maple-patterned felt blanket, dozing off.

He stifled the urge to plant a kiss on him lest he awoke him. And got back to his task at hand.

Jean looked at the gold medal in his palm. It glimmered in the soft light of their living room, and he ran his fingers over the surface, before he placed it on the glass shelf next to the rest of his medals. Too many to count, and yet each one of them precious to him. It didn’t matter that he had been steadily placing on the top podium at Nationals ever since he had joined the Senior division, he still relished defending his title, year after year. There had been countless hours of sweating and bleeding on the ice to earn his medals, and the pride to be the Canadian national champion, was something that always made his heart swell in his chest.

Instinctively his fingers moved to his biceps where the Canadian national anthem was tattooed on his skin under his thick sweater. He got the honour of representing his country at the Four Continents and at Worlds, and perhaps not all his fellow competitors felt the same way or even understood him, but for Jean representing Canada was something greater than victory itself. He wasn’t competing for himself alone. He was competing for all those who supported him, those who cheered for him, those who watched him on their televisions and felt proud to be Canadian when they saw him skate.

Heart still swollen in his chest, Jean closed the cabinet, and walked back to the sofa, looking at Seung-gil’s slumbering form. His boyfriend did understand him. He had the same drive, and carried the pride of his whole country on his sinewy shoulders. Perhaps even more than Jean did. The South Korean team was small, and Seung-gil was the only skater who had gotten invited to the Grand Prix.

It made Jean worry about him sometimes. Because he knew there was a sizeable pressure on Seung-gil to excel, greater than the one Jean had to carry, especially now that both his siblings were internationally renowned just like him. That, combined with Seung-gil’s presence had eased the clutch of anxiety that had been plaguing Jean the first few seasons in the Senior division - the one that had made him self-combust at the GPF in Barcelona.

Seung-gil never complained, but Jean was not blind. He could see how hard he worked. And how disappointed he had been after the GPF. With a sad curl of his lips, Jean knelt next to the sofa, gingerly moving a lock of hair that had fallen over Seung-gil’s forehead. Wishing there was something he could do to ease his burden, Jean sighed, looking at his slumbering form. So peaceful. So beautiful. With his long dark lashes fanning across his pale cheeks, and his thick eyebrows relaxed. And that mouth, deceitfully thin in his trademark scowls, but truly the softest thing ever when Jean captured it with a kiss. Jean’s heart skipped a beat at the thought and he felt his lips pull into a smile.

It still startled him at times just how much he loved Seung-gil.

When he had been nineteen years old and engaged to Isabella he had thought he could never love someone more than he had loved her, but then Seung-gil had waltzed into his life and made him realise he really hadn’t known a thing. Because even after two and a half years of dating, Seung-gil never failed to make his heart pound loudly in his chest.

He pressed a light kiss on Seung-gil’s hair, lingering a moment before he got up to his feet and switched the lamp off. Napping through the evening was going to mess with Seung-gil’s sleeping habits, but his boyfriend had looked exhausted. And somehow Jean felt it was more than just Seung-gil overworking himself at training.

Resting would help him.

Or so he hoped.

  


The lights playing on the ceiling were different from the ones at home. The flat lamp in the centre would cast a long shadow whenever a car passed by on the street below, moving left to right before it smudged back into the relative darkness of the night. Seung-gil moved, scooting closer to Jean, trying desperately to sleep. And failing.

They were skating their short programs the next morning, and Seung-gil felt like his whole body had been hollowed out and filled with lead. He wished he could just linger there in the queen sized bed of their shared hotel room and sleep through the Four Continents. He felt his limbs shiver with the suppressed frustration, with the knowledge that morning _would_ eventually come. And Seung-gil would skate.

Because he had a duty to his country. To his family. To his coaches. To Jean.

He would skate, and he would not live to the expectations he had placed upon himself long before anyone else had added to them. Jean would win, or Altin, perhaps Chulanont. Ever since Katsuki had retired the Four Continents were not a set thing. But Seung-gil knew that even if he skated his best, like he had done at the final he could not hope for more than a bronze medal. Jean and Altin had outscored him in Milan, and they would likely confirm their scores here.

Winning was impossible. And the certainty of defeat drained what little will to fight he had been left with. Because the numbers never lied. So what was the point in trying?

He shut his eyes, burying his head in Jean’s back, and gripping him tighter. He hated it so much. He hated losing. He hated the knowledge that all his hard work, all the years of endless sacrifices in the end amounted to nothing. He hated that he couldn’t be envious of his boyfriend’s talent, because for all that it tore him inside to be surpassed, he was so _proud_ of him it almost physically hurt. He curled his arm across Jean’s torso and curled closer to him. He hated it all, and he just wanted it to _stop_.

But it didn’t.

No matter how much he wished for it, it didn’t.

  


Jean wished he had not been right.

As he watched his boyfriend hand him his bronze medal so he could put it in the cabinet along with his own, he couldn’t help noticing that Seung-gil looked even worse than he had a month before. He had tried to convince himself it was just the tiredness of training relentlessly for the upcoming competition, and not something more, even if his own thoughts had tasted like denial on his tongue.

But the Four Continents had come and gone, and Seung-gil was waning, wasting away, day after day. There were dark circles around his eyes, looking even starker in contrast with his pale skin. And if he hadn’t been lying next to him every single night Jean would have thought Seung-gil was not sleeping at all. But he had woken next to his slumbering boyfriend most mornings, and if anything Seung-gil was sleeping more than usual. He was not sick, that much Jean was sure of. Their last check-up had been just before the Four Continents.

“Jean.” Seung-gil’s voice broke him from his thoughts, and Jean realised his hand was still lingering above Seung-gil’s, about to take his medal.

He lifted his gaze to his eyes, and his hand followed, sweeping away a stray lock of hair from his cheek. Seung-gil’s eyes locked with his and there was a dullness in them that looked like defeat. And Jean felt his own chest squeeze.

“Seung-gil, is it…” he trailed, looking between the medal and his boyfriend’s empty gaze. Something heavy was piling at the bottom of his chest. Seung-gil didn’t reply, but he didn’t really need. Jean knew what was bothering him.

His arms pulled the shorter skater to him.

“I’m sorry.” he said his voice a murmur in Seung-gil’s hair, and he was. In spite of the pride of winning, of seeing his country shine, it tore him inside to see Seung-gil so broken. _Beaten. You have beaten him._ But that was what they did, they competed against each other. And Jean had never spared a thought to how Seung-gil felt about it. About Jean outscoring him. _Always._

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Seung-gil replied “We’re athletes.” His shoulders moved in a dismissive shrug, but his voice was devoid of his usual dryness.

Jean felt his heart squeeze painfully.  

  


The water had gotten cold a while ago, but Seung-gil kept sitting on the bottom of the shower, letting it hit his shoulders and slide down his chest. A shiver ran down his body, shaking and shaking and shaking, but not really moving anything. In the emptiness of his mind there was nothing but the sound of the shower. He stared at the row of periwinkle tiles ahead of him.

Faintly he registered a knock on the bathroom door, but he didn’t move.

The water was probably freezing, but he had been numb for a while. He didn’t really care.

Another knock, and Jean’s voice. Seung-gil should probably get out of the shower, but it felt like his limbs were moving through molasses, and it was just too much trouble.

He closed his eyes. If he ignored it, it would stop, right?

It didn’t.

Jean entered the bathroom, and a moment later the water was no longer falling on him, but in its stead there was a large towel being wrapped around his body. Jean was saying something, but he could just see his mouth moving, the sound not quite making it past the white noise in Seung-gil’s ears.

  


Seung-gil’s body shivered against him, and Jean pulled the blanket around his shoulders tighter. He had dried him, dressed him, and blow dried his hair, but Seung-gil would not stop shivering. And Jean did not know what to do. How to make things better.

He buried his nose in Seung-gil’s still warm hair, trying to calm the tidal wave of anxiety that had been steadily rising as his boyfriend waned day after day. Jean knew it was not his fault, he had not done anything wrong, there was no reason to feel guilty. And yet he did. It ate at him in small but constant bites.

Jean felt like crying, but it was a luxury he could not afford. Seung-gil needed him.

He tightened the hold around his boyfriend’s shivering form and pulled him closer. He felt Seung-gil’s head tuck under his chin, and his eyelids dropped closed. How did they get here? Would things had been different if Jean had noticed it earlier? If he had seen?

Or would it all be the same?

After all it was not like he could stop being himself. Skating was his life, and being the best at it had been his ambition since the first time he had donned a pair of skates. And Jean knew Seung-gil was no different from him.

  


The World Championship came too soon. The tension that had been building throughout the season had reached its peak, and everyone, athletes, coaches, fans, were buzzing with an energy Seung-gil did not possess. He went through the motions like a wraith, lacing his skates, taking his Team South Korea jacket off, stepping on the ice, gliding. They had official practices, and Seung-gil’s group was up.

A song he was not familiar with started playing, and one of the skaters who were sharing the ice with him moved to the centre of the rink, starting his routine, while the others did laps, every now and then throwing a move in the field just to keep things interesting. Seung-gil observed it dispassionately, feeling a strange detachment from everything. It felt like in those quiet moments before dawn when the city lingered in the last moments of sleep before waking up, and the streets would be empty, eerily silent in their slumber. In spite of the noise, the music, the swishing of blades on the ice, Seung-gil felt quite alone.

It was not a bad feeling.

The skater in the middle finished his routine and the first notes of Seung-gil’s short program music played from the loudspeakers. Without prompt his body moved to the centre, stopping in the starting pose. Muscle memory guided him through the next two minutes. He spun, jumped, bended his body as far as it went, but unlike every time he skated there were no thoughts on his mind, no numbers rushing, no technical observations. There was nothing.

The last notes trailed lazily, and Seung-gil exited his sit spin with ease. He had no idea how he had skated.

He didn’t care.

  


Jean towelled his hair dry, trying to keep the frown off his face. Seung-gil was sitting on the bench in the locker room, wet strands of hair sticking to his forehead, but not looking like he was about to do anything about it.

“You’re gonna catch a cold.” he told him, throwing his towel in his direction. Seung-gil’s hand snapped out to catch it, but nothing changed in his expression. And Jean felt his stomach squirm.

Ever since they had landed in Berlin, Seung-gil had worn this blank expression, speaking only when prompted, and spending the most of his time with his gaze fixed on the scenery which sped outside the cab window. His parents had noticed something was off, and they had spent the whole ride to their hotel throwing worried glances at the two of them. His mother had accosted him, later, and Jean had explained the situation to her. And while it had felt good to have this burden off his chest, Jean couldn’t help the helplessness which stirred under his skin every time he looked at his boyfriend.

The only silver lining was that this was the last event of the season. Jean planned to take Seung-gil on a holiday, potentially somewhere very warm, and very far away from any kind of rink. Maybe a change of scenery would help.

Seung-gil towelled his hair, and Jean sighed. He really hoped it would make a difference. But before they got there they had one more competition.

One more podium to claw their way onto.

 

The light grey walls shone brightly under the halogen lights, the shiny paint almost reflecting the colours of their costumes. Seung-gil stared at it, while he kept an eye on the large clock ticking silently above them. In thirteen minutes it would be his turn to walk beyond the curtain and into the arena. Twelve minutes, forty seconds, he corrected himself, eyes still fixed on the clock. He wondered if he could make it stop. If he could somehow interrupt the flow of time and just exist in the void.

He was not really ready to do anything, let alone skate. And he wanted to lay down and just sleep. There was a tiredness deep inside his bones that was becoming less and less bothersome as the weeks flew by. It was almost comforting in its predictability. Seung-gil would wake to it, and cradle it inside his limbs through the days, through the training, the sweat, the aches in his muscles, the utterly pointless endeavour that was competing to lose.

Because he was going to lose, there was no doubt about it. His skating was not good enough to land him a spot on the podium, and what was the point of it if he knew he was never going to outdo his rivals.

Outdo Jean.

Sluggishly he turned his head to the screen where his boyfriend was finishing his short program. He should have probably watched. But he didn’t want to. He didn’t even want to be there in the first place. He didn’t want to carry the emblems of his country on his jacket, and the hopes of of his fans, his family, everyone, on his shoulders.

He wanted to sleep.

Eight minutes, twelve seconds. Seung-gil was thankful that his body seemed to be out of tune with his mind, because at least he didn’t have to worry about being an embarrassment on the ice. Muscle memory was enough to do one of his usual subpar performances.

Five minutes, twenty nine seconds. He frowned. Where had the past three minutes disappeared?

He never got to answer to his own question, because a moment later Jean was striding through the curtain and making a beeline in his direction, lips pulled into one of his blindingly cheerful grins. He must have done a good job on the ice, Seung-gil mused.

Jean’s grin faltered a smidge when he reached him, and a stab of guilt made its way through the molasses his mind was swimming in. But he had no time to ponder it, because he was being pulled into a crushing hug.

“Good luck out there!” Jean whispered in his ear “I’ll be cheering on you.”

Seung-gil wanted to tell him there was not going to be anything to cheer on. But that would make Jean’s joy evaporate completely, and Seung-gil couldn’t do that. So he kept his mouth shut, inhaling the scent of Jean’s skin where his nose was buried in the crook of his shoulder. And for a moment he could pretend they were not here, that Seung-gil was not about to step on the ice and disappoint everyone for the umptenth time. He could pretend they were in their home, in their living room, holding each other and banishing the rest of the world beyond their front door.

“You should go.” Jean told him softly, and Seung-gil nodded, lingering for a second more before he pulled back, and threw a glance at the clock.

Two minutes sharp.

He made his way towards the curtain and walked through.

  


When Jean had been little his aunt had used to take him to the puppet shows. He still remembered the small theatre that had seemed so huge in his eyes. And the scratchy fabric of the seats. The way the dust was set on fire by the spotlights which illuminated the stage. Every now and then the strings of the puppets would glimmer before becoming nigh invisible as they pulled the puppets’ limbs and moved them. Most of the children had been drawn in by the story, but Jean had watched the movements. The way the puppets had been almost alive, and yet they hadn’t really.

As he watched Seung-gil skate his short program, the memories flowed back to his consciousness. And the knot that had taken permanent lodging in his stomach, tightened. Because Seung-gil’s motions were state of the art, but every time he entered a spin Jean almost expected to see the faint glimmer of the strings which moved him, the shadow of the hand which maneuvered him. He was skating, but he wasn’t really there.

And it was wrong. As wrong as seeing his boyfriend slowly wither in the past months. As wrong as the helplessness which was becoming too familiar to Jean. Seung-gil had never been an expressive skater, but despite the stoic set of his face there had always been a liveliness in the way he moved, something hard to grasp that was entirely Seung-gil. And which made Jean’s heart speed up every time he gazed at it.

But Seung-gil was not there now. There was his body, going through the motions, jumping, spinning, bending in laybacks. And beyond that there was a gaping void that made Jean wish he could just step onto the ice and scoop Seung-gil in his arms. And take him away from the wrongness of it all.

He sighed, gripping the edge of the barrier, and waiting for the routine to be over.

Half a minute had never seemed longer. But eventually the music trailed to an end, and the crowd cheered like it always did, oblivious to everything that was profoundly wrong with Seung-gil’s short program. His parents were already at the entrance, waiting for Seung-gil. Jean’s eyes caught his mother’s, and he saw understanding in them. She had noticed. She was worried. They had to do something.

But as Seung-gil stepped off the ice, and mechanically clipped his skate guards on, Jean was as clueless as he had been for the past four months. And the knot at the base of his stomach gave a painful lurch.

 

Jean was in second place. Seung-gil was in fifth, his technical score high enough to place him in the top five, even when his performance had left a lot to be desired. Not that Seung-gil really cared any longer. He was itching to take a shower and lay down into their queen sized bed. And not get up for the foreseeable future. Their coaches had a different plan though. Jean and him had been instructed to freshen themselves before they met with them in the lobby to go to dinner.

So after a perfunctory shower, Seung-gil found himself waiting for his boyfriend to fix his hair, and pick an outfit even though they were just going to eat something with his parents.

Normally Seung-gil would have rolled his eyes at Jean’s fussy attitude when it came to his looks, but he had no energy, and he just sat down on the edge of the bed and waited. Jean went through three different combinations of clothes that looked more or less identical to Seung-gil before he finally settled for one of them.  He turned towards Seung-gil.

“You’re not dressed?” Jean asked him, with a frown.

“You’re never happy with what I choose.” he replied with a shrug. It had been the topic of an ongoing argument ever since they had started dating, and more often than not Seung-gil ended up swapping one or five pieces of clothing after Jean assessed with a sigh that he couldn’t go out wearing _that._ It was an energy consuming endeavour. So he had just pulled on a pair of boxers and waited for Jean to pick his clothes.

He thought it would make Jean happy. But his boyfriend’s frown only deepened, and that particular worried look clouded his eyes.

“If you don’t want to go, we can always stay in…” Jean began, but Seung-gil shook his head.

“Just pick something.” he told him. He was tired, and he wanted to burrow himself under the duvet, but he didn’t want to ruin the Leroys’ plans just because he was weary.

He was always weary lately.

It made no big difference, after all.

 

Jean rummaged through Seung-gil’s suitcase, looking for something other than tracksuits and sweatpants. His boyfriend hadn’t moved an inch, and Jean tried to focus on the clothes rather than the dead look in his eyes. The unease he had felt during the short program came back with a vengeance, and Jean swallowed thickly. He wanted to help Seung-gil, but he didn’t know where to begin in the first place.

And confronting him was pointless. He knew at least what part of the problem was, but what could he do? Skating anything other than his best would be a disrespect to his country, his fans, his parents and all his rivals, Seung-gil included.

Jean shook his head exhaling a deep breath that had been lodged somewhere around the tangle of emotions he seemed unable to unravel. They had a dinner to attend, and he had an outfit to pick.

“Blue or black?” he asked Seung-gil, lifting a pair of nearly identical sweaters, and his boyfriend blinked.

“Blue.” he said, and Jean tossed him one of the sweater along with a pair of jeans.

They only had three more days in Berlin, and then they were off for a couple of weeks. He was still unsure where to take Seung-gil for a vacation. But one thing was sure. They needed to get away from the ice, from the pressure of competing, of winning, of making their respective homelands proud.

Jean hoped it would be enough.

 

Four hours later, Seung-gil tiredly walked out of the shower. He was beyond exhausted, and the weariness of having to be sociable had been the last nail in the coffin of his endurance. Sluggishly he took a towel and see to wipe the steam off the bathroom mirror. He cleared a stretch of it, and for a moment he found himself back to his childhood, when he would take the bus to the rink. On rainy days the windows would be covered in condensation, and Seung-gil would trace the pattern of compulsory figures on the glass. It had been a long commute from his school to the rink, but Seung-gil had soldiered through it for the entirety of his elementary school days, not caring for how long he had to sit or stand there. Because at the end of that ride he would be lacing his skates and speeding across the ice.

Back then doubles had been his goal, and when he had finally managed to land a double loop he had almost cried with joy.

He had loved skating.

His hand paused in its motion, and something squeezed inside his chest as the realisation sunk in. How long had it been since he had last enjoyed himself on the ice? Years? More than a decade, he was sure of that. By the time he had graduated from middle school, Seung-gil had been singlemindedly focused on getting better, faster, more precise, eager to start upgrading his triples to quads, and working on his stamina in order to backload as many jumps as he could to get additional points. The Junior division had been far more competitive than the Novice one, and he had wanted to move up to Seniors.

Somewhere along the line he had stopped having fun.

He had stopped enjoying the feel on the blades gliding under his feet, the chilly air of the rink. He had had sponsors, he had become part of the national team. He had had a duty.

Skating had become a duty.

But that was not right. It was not how it was supposed to be. It was enough to reminisce any of Jean’s performances to know he _loved_ skating. And he was not the only one. Chulanont looked like skating was the most entertaining activity he could imagine, De La Iglesia only cared about music, and skating was a way to enjoy it, and Plisetsky loved _competing._ None of them looked like skating was a burden. Even when they lost, Seung-gil could see the frustration channelled into the drive to get better, to not lose again.

He could not see his expression reflected on their faces. And Seung-gil suddenly wondered if he was doing something wrong after all. If his fixation on duty, on making his country proud had overshadowed the real reason why he skated.

He loved it, didn’t he?

A shaky breath made it past his mouth, and he swallowed dryly.

He was not so sure, after all.

 

The silver medal felt heavy around Jean’s neck. He kept his smile for the fans and the reporters, but he wanted nothing but to yank that medal off and find Seung-gil. He had not been there during the ceremony, and Jean felt his lungs squeezed in worry. But cameras were flashing, Plisetsky was throwing a reluctant arm around his shoulders to pull him a group hug along with Altin who had gotten bronze. And Jean could not leave.

He could feel his breaths get stuck in his windpipe, and this was not good. He couldn’t panic, not in front of everyone. Not now. But what if Seung-gil needed him, and he wasn’t there? He had looked completely dejected during his free skate, and seeing the relatively low score he had gotten had only made Seung-gil’s eye turn a duller shade of dark brown. Jean had tried his best to be supportive, but he had warm ups to do, and then it was his turn to skate.

By the time he had walked out of the kiss and cry Seung-gil had been nowhere to be found. Jean had tried calling him, but he had gotten no reply. His mother had tried to calm him down, telling him she was going to drive back to the hotel, and see if he had gotten back to their room. She would take care of it, she had told him. But Jean was here, smiling his magazine cover smile, and fretting. Because he should have done something after Seung-gil had exited the kiss and cry. He should have comforted him more. He should have told his mother to keep an eye on him while he skated. Or anyone for that part.

It was getting harder to breathe, and the flashes of the cameras were blinding. He needed to get out of there.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”Plisetsky hissed from the centre of the podium, and Jean’s head whipped in his direction. “Calm the fuck down, idiot.” the Russian ordered, before turning his gaze back to the crowd, mouth in its usual thin line.

The surprise of having his self-proclaimed arch nemesis looking out for him was enough to snap his attention away from his worry for a moment. His heart was still hammering too fast, but he tried to focus on keeping his breaths steady. It was not going to last much longer. He just had to endure a few more photos, and then they would be allowed to leave for the lockers.

He swallowed, forcing his facial muscles to keep the smile up.

And then they were _finally_ stepping down the podium. Jean dropped a quiet

“Thanks Plisetsky.” before skating away from the podium and hurrying with clipping his skate guards on.

“Has maman found him?” he asked his father, anxiously.

He nodded, with a smile.

“He was just outside.” his father told him, and Jean felt the knot around his lungs suddenly unravel, as he breathed a sigh of relief. “They’re waiting for you in the locker room” he added and Jean nodded, before striding through the curtain, and into the backstage.

 

The styrofoam cup was warm under his fingers, and Seung-gil sipped the watered down cocoa Nathalie had gotten him from the vending machine. His coach was sitting on the bench next to him, nursing a cup of her own with a placid expression that reminded Seung-gil of Jean when he relaxed in their living room.

He had been sitting on a bench just outside the arena when Nathalie had walked towards him with a large smile that had almost made him miss the relief in her bespectacled eyes. She had commented on the nice spring weather, sitting next to him like they were having a casual stroll in the German capital. Seung-gil had just hummed and nodded to her remarks, wondering if it had been Jean who had sent her to look for him. Was he worried?

Seung-gil had felt a pang of guilt at the thought that still lingered even after they had eventually made their way back to the arena and into the locker room. He hadn’t meant to worry anyone. He had just needed to get out of there, to stop hearing all the cheering of the crowd, and the music blaring through the loudspeakers. He had needed to get away from the ice to think.

Ever since the realisation he had had the night after the short program, Seung-gil had been thinking about skating a lot, trying to understand when and how had things gotten so wrong. But the free skate had loomed before him, eating away the little time he had on his hands. And by the time he had stepped off the ice after his final performance at the World Championship, Seung-gil had been close to bursting. There were so many thoughts running through his head, so many things to consider. His whole life in a way. Because skating was his life, and he had been approaching it wrongly, hadn’t he?

He wondered if he had fallen out of love with the ice, or if he had just pushed that emotion back?

It was important to understand this. Because he knew he couldn’t go on like this. And something had to change.

Not just because of himself, but for Jean’s sake as well. His boyfriend was worried, and Seung-gil could not pretend not to see the way anxiety had been creeping over him lately. He couldn’t do this to him.

Almost like he had been summoned by his thoughts, Jean chose that moment to stride into the locker room. There was a mixture of worry and relief in his eyes that made the knot of guilt in Seung-gil’s chest tighten painfully. He barely had the time to set the styrofoam on the bench before he was being pulled into a crushing hug. Jean’s chest trembled against his, and Seung-gil sneaked his arms tighter around him.

“I’m sorry” he whispered “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Jean just shook his head, arms only tightening their hold.

 

It wasn’t a beach, nor any of the exotic locations Jean had envisioned for their vacation. But when he had asked Seung-gil where he wanted to go, his boyfriend hadn’t spared a thought before saying “Seoul.” It was mid April, and Jean was strolling down a quiet area in the suburbs of the South Korean metropolis. He didn’t know why they were here, but the way Seung-gil observed everything, from the large stretch of tarmac of the road to the tenements facing it was enough to clue him in on how important this place was to him. He was curious, of course, but Seung-gil had never hidden anything from him, so he knew he would eventually learn why they were stopping at a bus stop while Seung-gil looked at the worn bench with something akin to wistfulness in his eyes.

It was a foreign look on his boyfriend’s face, but it was light years away from the dullness that had filled his eyes in the past months, and Jean was grateful for it.

Something had changed after the World championship. It was in small increments, almost imperceptible, but day after day some of his usual determination found its way back into Seung-gil’s dark eyes. And when they had landed in Seoul, he had almost looked like his usual self, but for the conspicuous absence of his usual scowl. In its stead a pensieve curl of his mouth had been planted on his face.

“I used to live nearby.” Seung-gil said all of a sudden, dragging Jean away from his thoughts.  Jean lifted his eyes to meet Seung-gil’s “My elementary school is just around the corner.” he continued, turning his eyes towards the relatively calm street “And this is where I waited for the bus.”

“But you lived nearby.” Jean said, frowning. “Why did you need to take the bus?” he asked almost stupidly, but Seung-gil was finally explaining things, and he was not going to miss this chance.

“The rink is on the other side of the city.” Seung-gil replied.

Oh.

“Seung-gil, why are we here?” Jean finally asked, feeling an inkling of an explanation form in his mind.

“I used to love skating.” Seung-gil declared with the same dispassionate tone he had used before. Jean didn’t miss the past tense.

“But you no longer do?” he almost gasped. Then with a shade of apprehension “You’re thinking about retiring?”

Seung-gil did a double take, almost as if the possibility hadn’t occurred to him before.

“I… I haven’t really thought about that.” he told him, eyebrows knitting into a frown. “But something does need to change. I can’t go on like this.” his voice was quieter now, and Jean instinctively stepped forward to stand next to him, sliding his hand between their bodies until his fingers were tangled with Seung-gil’s.

He squeezed his hand lightly.

“I’ll always support you.” Jean told him, “Whatever you choose to do. I want you to be happy.” then softer “That’s the most important thing.”

And he believed it. For all that the possibility of never competing against him felt wrong somehow, he wanted his boyfriend to be happy, to be _himself,_ rather than the wraithlike presence he had been in the past months. He loved him in all his facets, but seeing him dejected and lost was wrong. Profoundly so.

Seung-gil exhaled, lips pulling in a ghost of smile.

“Thank you” he told him, leaning his shoulder lightly against Jean’s. “I wish I knew what to do.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” Jean reassured him with another squeeze of his hand.

Seung-gil squeezed back.

 

He needed new skate laces. As he tugged the boots on Seung-gil observed this, making a mental note to change the laces once they got back home. He pulled a bit to check if the knots held, and then he got up from the bench, making his way towards the rink barrier. Jean was already on the ice, gliding slowly through figures while their coaches discussed something farther away. It had been a month since Jean and him had returned from their vacation in Seoul. Or soul-searching journey, as Jean had jokingly called it. And maybe it had meant to be one, but there had been no miraculous epiphanies during their stay. Seung-gil hadn’t found any clear cut answer to his doubts. But he _had_ found a measure of calm.

Because now he had a choice.

It had always been there, but retirement had been a notion for the future, something distant, something inevitable, eventually. It had not been a choice for the present.

But it _was._

If he chose so he could retire before the next season began. He was in his mid twenties, he had all the options in the world, and taking his leave from his skating world would not be something anyone would begrudge him.

The awareness of this put everything in a different perspective. Where once had been a wall, tall, insurmountable, made of all the talent others possessed and he did not, of all the duties he was failing to fulfil, of his own inadequacy no matter how hard he tried, now there was a choice.

And above it all there was time.

Because he could retire today or in five years. The choice was his own.

He didn’t know how things were going to play out in the upcoming season, if he was going to succeed or if his rivals were going to outscore him once again. But where pressure had used to be now there was only curiosity. Because Seung-gil didn’t know if this was going to be his last season or not. But if it was, he wanted to enjoy it. He wanted to see if he was still able to. If there was still something skating could give him, other than the frustration of losing, over and over.

As he stepped on the ice, leaving the skate guards on top of the barrier, Seung-gil knew that today he still wanted to skate. That he wanted to put together a new set of routines for the upcoming season.

The only way to find out if he could still love skating was sticking around for at least one more season.

So he was going to do just that.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! <3


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